by Hahn, Jan
“Will you put me down?” I spoke with as much dignity as I could find in the situation.
He turned his eyes from the stream to me, and I watched them begin to glint in amusement. “In good time, Mrs. Darcy, in good time.”
That infuriated me, but I refused to blanch and stared back at him, a difficult task since our faces were so close. At last and just before I feared my eyes would cross from the strain, he laughed softly and deposited me on the ground. I straightened my clothes and did my utmost to show my disdain, but in truth I was grateful for his rescue.
“Keep going, Sneyd,” he yelled to the swimmer. “You’ve almost got it.”
We watched as the man managed to snare the bobbing bucket and turned around for the shore. He had almost crossed the entire stream, which was no small feat, as it appeared quite deep in the middle.
When he crawled up on the rock, Morgan added, “Now, fill it up and fetch it to the cottage for Mrs. Darcy.”
Sneyd gave us both a dirty look, but once he shook the water from his long hair, he did as he had been told, all the while muttering something about that being a fit task for Gert.
Morgan took my arm and led me up the incline and back toward the cottage. He did not apologize for Sneyd’s actions, but his grasp was gentle, and I could not be anything other than grateful for his presence. I decided to use his goodwill to my advantage.
“This is a lovely setting, Mr. Morgan. Does the land belong to your family?”
He looked at me with a curious eye. “And why would you be wanting to know that, Missus?”
“Because it appears to be rich in timber. I wonder that you do not make your fortune by its harvest.”
He stopped and cast his eyes upon the woods, densely tangled with all kinds of trees and bushes. “It is a good forest and one my grandfathers lived by — but not I.”
“And why is that?” I prodded gently.
He turned and stared at me, and when he spoke, his voice came out harsh and angry. “Because my grandfather was robbed of the land by the likes of you and your husband!”
“I do not know what you mean. Neither my husband nor I have ever robbed anyone.”
“Aye, perhaps not you, but those like you. Land grabbers, all of them. And when my poor grandfather couldn’t pay the taxes, they were all too glad to jump in and take what belonged to my family for centuries!”
“Then you no longer own this land?”
“Not with money, Missus.” He chuckled slightly. “With what I’ve got resting in my waistband, though, I own it. My name’s known up and down this part of the country, and that rich bugger who stole this land hasn’t shown his face at this cottage in many a year now.”
“And does that make you the better man, sir? Or just the better thief?”
He scowled. An angry mask once again descended upon his face. “Come on, get back in the house.”
His touch was no longer gentle as he pushed me toward the door. It seemed I had hit a nerve. Before we reached our destination, I surveyed as much of our surroundings as possible. A small outbuilding on the side of the cottage evidently served as stables for the horses, for I could hear their soft whinnying sounds. Also in that direction I observed the beginnings of a well-worn path or narrow roadway lining the woods. Perhaps it led toward some village or town.
I thought of asking more questions as to our whereabouts but decided against it because of Morgan’s change in mood. I doubted that he would reveal anything more, and I had learned enough for now.
Inside Morgan grabbed a towel from the table, thrust it into my hands, and prodded me toward the back room. Sneyd had arrived at the door by that time, whereupon Morgan grabbed the bucket of water and followed me. Mr. Darcy stood just inside the doorway and immediately took my hands when I walked into the room.
“Elizabeth, are you unharmed?”
I nodded, but he pulled me close nevertheless. To say that I was surprised by his embrace would be an understatement, but I recovered quickly and clung to him to continue the artifice he so obviously initiated. Surely, Morgan would now believe we were a loving couple displaying affection.
He said nothing, however. Dropping the bucket on the floor with little concern for spilling its precious contents, he slammed the door behind him.
Somewhat clumsily, Mr. Darcy and I disentangled ourselves, each of us avoiding the other’s eyes. I wondered if he found this charade as uncomfortable as I. Hurriedly, I gathered up the towel and started toward the bucket of water, but he picked it up before me and carried it to the storeroom.
“I waited at the window, and I heard you scream. You must tell me what happened.”
“It — it was nothing.”
“That cannot be, for you do not frighten easily, Elizabeth. Tell me the truth. I insist upon it.”
I placed the towel beside the bucket of water and then closed the storeroom door, hesitating as long as possible before answering. I looked everywhere other than face him, but finally meeting his gaze, I knew I must give an answer.
“I shall tell you on one condition, sir.”
“And what is that?”
“That you promise to keep your wits about you, that what I say will not harrow up your wrath.”
“When has my behaviour ever failed to be ruled by reason?”
“Whenever you fear that I am in danger.”
“Oh? And would you have me not react, Miss Bennet? Shall I leave you to the reprehensible desires of these criminals?”
“No, of course not. That is not what I meant. I am grateful for your interference — that is — for your protection. It is just that I did not come to any harm, and I would not have you injured by proposing to defend my honour. Besides, Mr. Morgan came to my rescue before any genuine damage occurred.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the highwayman’s name, and I saw the line appear between his brows.
“Mister Morgan? What has he done to elevate himself in your esteem? Tell me the incident in its entirety, Miss Bennet. Now!”
I bristled at his demanding tone, speaking as though he were my master. I considered with distaste that whoever eventually consented to be his wife would most probably have to endure such overbearing dominance on a daily basis. Well, I was not his wife, and I would not tolerate being treated in such a manner.
“Do not order me about, sir. It is not your right.”
A few moments earlier, he had begun to pace back and forth. He now stood directly in front of me, and I could see the fire in his eyes.
“If you do not tell me what happened, Elizabeth, I shall call out Morgan post-haste.”
“Would that not be foolhardy, sir? You do not even possess a gun!”
“And is not your refusal to cooperate just as foolish, madam?”
My colour was high, and I knew it, for I could feel the heat burn my cheeks. The man was the most infuriating individual I had ever known! We stared at each other no small amount of time, each of us refusing to budge, but finally I relented. I would not have him killed simply because I refused to obey his commands.
“Very well, Mr. Darcy. You shall hear this silly tale, and then you shall wonder why you insisted upon bullying me into relating it. I was allowed to fill the bucket from the stream. That dreadful Sneyd accompanied me to the water’s edge and there he — well, he attempted to put his hand upon my person.”
I could see Mr. Darcy’s chest move, his breath coming short and hard. “Sneyd put his hand upon you? Where?”
I could not believe he asked me that!
“In a place he should not have! And do not ask any further details, for that is all I shall say about the matter.”
“I will kill him,” he fumed. “I will call him out immediately!”
“Are you mad? My dignity was all that was injured. Is that sufficient reason to kill the man or risk losing your life? Besides, I defended myself. I am capable of doing so, whether you realize it or not.”
“You? How? What could you do?”
&nbs
p; “I emptied the bucket of water over his head!”
For the first time, I caught a glimpse of a smile on Mr. Darcy’s face and admiration in his eyes as well.
“Excellent! Well done, Miss Bennet. But there is more, is there not? I heard you scream more than once. What transpired after that?”
“Naturally, my actions made him furious. He grabbed my hands and tried to force himself upon me.”
I looked up to see the nerve on the side of his face begin to quiver. He pressed his lips together and said not a word, but his eyes darted here and there as though he were making an extraordinary attempt to control his fury.
“But Morgan saved me,” I said quickly. “He threw Sneyd down and ordered him into the creek.”
“Into the creek?”
“Yes, to retrieve the bucket. It had fallen in the stream after I tossed it at him. And that is all there was to it,” I said with a tone of finality.
For some reason I omitted how the highwayman had carried me to the cabin and held me longer than needed — why I do not know. An intuitive feeling warned me against it, and I was relieved that he did not question me further.
At that moment, we were interrupted by Morgan’s presence. Thrusting the door open, he marched into the room. Standing with hands on hips, he surveyed the area as though he were king and our quarters a part of his domain.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he said, his tone imperious, “I shall require the pleasure of your company at my table again tonight. And Darcy, I have serious doubts that your wife’s truly with child, for she was light as eiderdown when I carried her from the water’s edge. Just exactly how far along is she in her confinement?”
Mr. Darcy’s mouth gaped open, and I quickly answered. “I am not yet three months, sir, and if you question my condition, my husband has already suggested that you fetch a physician to confirm it.”
His only response was a narrowing of those cold, azure eyes before he whirled around and departed the room as quickly as he had appeared.
I suddenly had a new fear, and as soon as the door closed, I voiced it. “What if he does send for someone, perhaps a midwife?”
Mr. Darcy’s answer was brusque and dismissive. “There is little chance of that. He is bluffing. He would not suffer an outsider knowing our whereabouts.”
Then he caught my hand and turned me around to face him. “Why did you not tell me that Morgan carried you to the cabin? Did he, too, attempt liberties with you?” I avoided his eyes and tried to loosen my hand, but he persisted. “Miss Bennet? What have you refrained from telling me? What did he do?”
“There is nothing to tell. As I said before, Morgan rescued me. I am much obliged to him.”
“Obliged! To that criminal? I fear that your admiration of the highwayman’s appearance may have robbed you of your good sense! Or perhaps you relished the close embrace necessary for such transport.”
“Mr. Darcy, your suspicions are beyond annoyance. I pray you remember that you play the role of my husband, but in truth, I am not your wife. There is a difference, and you would do well to remember it!”
He blanched at my words as though I had struck him, and releasing my hand, he strode to the window. I took advantage of the respite and vanished into the water closet, slamming the door behind me.
* * *
The third night of our imprisonment found me seated once again at the highwayman’s table. I was relieved that it was Merle instead of Sneyd who accompanied Gert when she brought Mr. Darcy’s plate, and he, in turn, escorted me to the main room. Evidently, Sneyd had been banished to the sentry’s post without, for I saw no sign of him.
Once the woman had placed the meal on the table, she and the others quickly quitted the room. Morgan and I were to dine alone.
Our intimate dinner scene unnerved me somewhat, but I put on a brave face and refused to allow him to witness my trepidation. The contents upon my plate appeared somewhat finer that night, for I detected the aroma of venison among the chunks of potatoes, and I could not believe my eyes when I saw him pour me a glass of wine. Where had that come from?
He had said not a word since I entered the room. We ate the meal in eerie silence, and it endured until he cleaned his plate and emptied his glass. Leaning back in his chair, Morgan struck a match to light his pipe and turned his gaze upon me. I lay my spoon upon the table and sat back, waiting. He still said nothing, but sat there watching me.
I began to wonder if he had taken instruction from Mr. Darcy, for both men had the gift of provoking my unease with their prolonged stares. With Morgan, however, I would not give in.
Why should I speak first? I was there at his pleasure. If he wished for nothing more than my presence while he dined, then fine, that was all he would receive.
I kept my eyes upon the fire, longing for such a blaze in the room I shared with Mr. Darcy, when at last my dinner companion spoke. “Would you care for more wine?”
“I thank you, no, but I would welcome the opportunity to fetch a glass for my husband.”
“Ah, that blasted Darcy. Must his name intrude upon our meal?”
“I cannot see how his name will make much intrusion when his person is confined to that small room. I do not understand why he is not allowed to join us.”
“Because I’ve no desire to look upon his face . . . while I’m delighted by yours.”
I hated myself for blushing, but I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I turned away and surveyed the room. It was rudely furnished and in great need of a thorough cleaning. The prominent adornment, other than dust, consisted of rifles and various other weapons stacked against the walls. These men possessed a veritable arsenal.
He rose and stood before me. “And does it give you such displeasure to gaze upon my face? Perchance my scar offends your delicate sensibilities. Is that it?”
He leaned against the table and inclined his face so close that I could have reached up and touched his cheek.
“Who did that to you?”
“The first man I ever killed.” He chuckled lightly.
I drew back and turned my face away, unable to keep from recoiling at the thought. Reaching out, he took my chin in his hand, forcing me to face him.
“’Tis an ugly sight, I’m sure, but it could be worse. He could have cut off me pretty curls!” He winked and laughed.
“What would you say to that, Mrs. Darcy? Would I not have lost me true beauty then? Is that not what drives the ladies wild? I’ve had many a lass wish to twirl her fingers through such richness. Would you be one of them?”
Again I made no answer, for I refused to even acknowledge his taking such liberties with his improper suggestions.
“Mrs. Darcy? Shall you not respond to my question?”
“I do not appreciate your impertinence. If you wish to speak of more suitable topics, I shall do so, but I refuse to engage in flirtatious banter.”
He puffed on his pipe for several minutes and steadily surveyed my person. Oh, how I hated being regarded in such a manner, as though I were nothing more than his entertainment!
“So you will not flirt.” His tone was mocking. “Then what shall you do to amuse me? Do you sing perchance?”
What? I remained silent, staring at him as though he had lost his mind.
“Mrs. Darcy, I asked you a question. Do you sing?”
“A little . . . a very little.”
He clapped his hands together. “Then let us have a song!”
“You have no instrument, sir. How can I sing?”
“Without one!” he announced. “And sing something lively, for I feel like dancing.”
My eyes widened in unbelief. “You jest, sir, at my expense.”
“Indeed, I do not. You shall sing, and we shall dance.”
To my amazement, he tossed his pipe aside, and taking my hand, he bade me rise and follow him to the middle of the room.
“Now sing!” he commanded.
I could not believe he would humiliate me in this manner, but when he bowed before me
as though we were beginning the dance, I knew that he was serious. Frantically, I cast about in my memory for any melody I might recall to which one could dance.
Hesitantly, I began to sing:
“Did . . . did you not hear my lady
Go down the garden singing
Blackbird and thrush were silent
To hear the alleys ringing.”
Back and forth we moved to the music, touching hands at times, turning, swaying, and skipping to the notes. Suddenly, while continuing to dance, he joined me in song, his voice a rich, deep baritone.
“Though I am nothing to her
Though she must rarely look at me
And though I could never woo her
I’ll love her ‘til I die.
“Surely you heard my lady
Go down the garden singing
Silencing all the songbirds
And setting the alleys ringing.”
All of a sudden, he stopped the dance, although he continued to sing. I stood there silent, while he finished the song still holding my hands in his.
“But surely you see my lady
Out in the garden there
Rivalling the wondrous moonlight
With the glory of raven hair.”1
1 Silent Worship from Ptolemy by G. F. Handel, arrangement and words by
Arthur Somervell
Wait! Why had he changed the last lines from “glittering sunshine” to “wondrous moonlight,” and “golden hair” to “raven?” Perhaps it was done unconsciously; perchance he had forgotten the words. Yes, it comforted me to consider that as the sole reason.
With the final notes, he bowed before me and laughed aloud. “Well done, Mrs. Darcy. You’re quite the songbird.”
“And you as well,” I admitted, grudgingly.
Retaining my hand in his, he escorted me back to the table, but before I could sit down, he pressed my fingers to his lips and peered up at me with a knowing look in his eyes, an expression that unsettled me even further. I attempted to withdraw my hand, but he held onto it. At last I could bear it no longer.
“Mr. Morgan, I acknowledge that I am your prisoner, but I appeal to your higher nature to treat me like a lady . . . a married lady.”
